


Woodsmoke

by ontario



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ontario/pseuds/ontario
Summary: (Contains spoilers!) Cypress comes to in the woods, disoriented by a thick storm. Remembering nothing, she is rescued by the mysterious loner, Muriel. Battling the past and trying desperately to avoid the Plague, closeness by unwanted circumstance slowly transforms into a mutual wish to be together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although the beginning here is before the beginning of the Arcana, this fic does contain spoilers. Please be up to date in-game before reading this if that's something you wish to avoid. There isn't a Muriel route yet, so here's my best remedy. Please enjoy, and feel free to copy and paste your Apprentice's name in ;o

A frigid, incisive gust of wind whistled through the trees and past Cypress's ear, whipping her rain soaked hair about her face. She was knocked yet again off balance, disoriented by the thick, icy torrents falling about her. Stumbling in the muddy underbrush, she reached for the thin trunk of a nearby sapling to support her, but the young tree was too weak, and bent under her weight. Her hand slid too quickly down its rough bark, and she felt a knot dig painfully through her palm as she fell hard into the cold, soft ground.  


Pounding rain and darkness surrounded her.

Her ability to think was oppressed by a thick fog that seemed to have settled in her mind, leaving her with a permeating fear that she could not attach to reason. She brought her bloodied hand slowly to her face. Whether it trembled from fear or the cold, she could not tell.

Where am I?

What... happened?

She grasped at what thin tendrils of memory she could summon, but when they seemed just within reach, they were severed by a sudden and all consuming pain in her skull. A spot just between her clavicles burned fiercly as her muscles siezed in unison. She writhed in pain. She reached for her head and chest at once, searching desperately for any way to extinguish the agony. When she could open her eyes, her vision was blurred. Her breaths came in shocked, hurried gasps.  


When her mind cleared itself of the desire to remember, the pain ebbed, crawling slowly away from her. She felt herself relax, leaving her pliant and exhausted on the forest floor. As the storm raged on, each raindrop that fell upon her seemed to nail her to the ground.

Defeated and spent, Cypress resigned into her helplessness and closed her eyes.

\--

Muriel sighed, carefully choosing where each step would fall through the mud of last night's storm. When the whole forest floor was covered in a layer of mud, it was difficult to tell where was sturdy enough to step, and where your foot would sink. The sunlight fell through the canopy above, filtering white through the dense covering of glistening leaves. Birds sung about him, flitting from branch to soaked branch, flicking water about their paths. Muriel inhaled deeply, silently enjoying the fresh, earthy scent of his forest after the rain.

Inanna scouted ahead of him, snuffling the ground for the forage he had taken the opportunity to gather. After a strong rain like this, it easier to find damp-loving morels and watercress, and crayfish were less shy about coming out of their burrows.  


Inanna's ears pricked, giving Muriel pause. Had she found something? 

Her tail went stiff, and she lifted her head, snout straight, monitoring. Slowly, she padded forward. Her steps were cautious. Something was wrong.

Muriel followed silently as she drew nearer to a patch of bent wildwood. She sniffed the trunk of a tall maple sapling, whining. 

Muriel stepped forward into the wildwood patch, going still when he saw what he at first thought was a patch of discarded fabric. Though there was no movement, the shape of the drenched heap too closely resembled a person for him to not investigate.  


He bent down, knowing better than to touch someone who might be injured. Lowering himself to a tangled patch of dark hair, he spoke, trying to rouse them.

"Can you hear me?"

No response. This was bad. He lifted the matted hair, placing his fingers on the neck to feel for a pulse. It was strong and slow. This person was alive, but their skin was stone cold and wet from the rain. 

Urgently and as carefully as he could, he picked them up, careful to support their neck. He all but dashed back to his cottage, Inanna at his heels.

He nudged the door open with his knee, carrying the person inside. He laid them on the floor in front of his fireplace. When he could clearly see their face, he jolted back. He knew this one.

He paused, searching her face for any evidence he was wrong. He had to be. But before him was the same pale oval face that had so taken Asra that it seemed to have destroyed him. The dark, pale violet hair was identical, and her sharp eyes were unchanged.  


Last he heard, she had succumbed to the plague. The tears that had choked Asra's voice spoke a painful, desperate truth - his treasured apprentice, Cypress, was dead.

And yet, here she was, unconscious, but breathing.

He exhaled, clearing his mind. Regardless of what he had heard, she was in his home, and she needed help. He worried that pneumonia could set in if it hadn't already.

He gingerly removed her drenched, damaged clothes, searching clinically for any wound or bruise. The palm of her right hand was gashed open and inflamed. He reached up to a high shelf, hastily removing two jars. He ground them together into a poultice. He cleaned the wound as best he could, gently covered it with his herbal remedy, and wrapped it in a clean bandage.

Seeing no other injuries, he clothed her quickly with a tunic of his own. With a warm cloth, he wiped the dirt from her face, and did his best to get her tangled hair in order. When she awoke, he decided, she could deal with that herself.  


He laid her carefully in his bed, drawing two dense fur blankets up to cover her. Leaving her asleep in Inanna's care, he left to fetch firewood.

\--

Cypress was coaxed back into consciousness so painfully slowly.

Her mind swam, and the first thing she was vaguely aware of was the warmth that surrounded her, and a slight pressure on her chest. In the dark peace of her half-sleep, she tested her hand to see how much movement she could tease out of it. What she had intended to be a clenched fist was little more than a weak twitch of her fingers. Unwilling to put the effort into really processing her situation, she only felt distantly annoyed at her inability to articulate movement.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the fog that had settled there would not go away without a fight. She wanted to remember, but the punishment she had endured the night before left her less than willing to try.

As her ability to hear and process sound slowly returned to her, she began to listen. First, to her own steady breathing. Then to the periphery, to the dim crackle of a fireplace, and crickets chirping outside. She knew, suddenly, that she was alive. 

Why is that important...?

Footsteps and anxious claws clicking on wood began to fill in the outer cracks of her hearing, accompanied by a hushed voice, speaking words she could not make out.

She opened her eyes. As the blurriness in her vision cleared, she saw firelight dancing on a wooden ceiling, interrupted every foot or so by a protrusion that looked too like a tree root. Around her, she smelled woodsmoke, myrrh, and something savory and herbal. She lifted herself to sit up, careful to keep pressure off of her injured hand. 

She looked about the room, trying to gather her bearings. She had no idea where she was, but judging by the bandage on her hand and the fact that she awoke in a place more hospitable than the rainy patch of weeds she remembered falling asleep on, she sensed little danger. The shelves carved into the wooden walls were lined with glass jars, old books, and intriguing little wood and stone statues. As she observed, someone moved into the periphery of her vision, startling her.

Her gaze moved quickly and locked with a pair of pensive emerald eyes, set into a chiseled face that seemed to always be scowling. Dark, scraggly hair veiled his face, and seemed to intensify his stare. He was muscular, towering, and intimidating . The scars that stretched over parts of his face and chest whispered of battles won, yet his demeanor suggested no interest in fighting. The ceiling that had seemed high not minutes ago now felt oppressively low for its inhabitant. 

The man wordlessly moved to the fireplace, clutching a thick ceramic mug and filling it with a steaming amber liquid from the cauldron in front of it. He handed it carefully to her, motioning to drink.

It was hot, but revitalizing. It tasted savory, like broth, laced with wild sage. Floating inside were thinly sliced root vegetables and bits of meat. Realizing her hunger, she downed the thin soup, scalding her tongue. She shoved the empty mug into her lap as she realized she had drank too quickly, coughing. 

"Not too fast," the man chided, taking the mug from her. He rinsed it quickly in a basin and refilled it with cold water.

"Drink this," he grumbled, handing the mug back to her. "Slowly. I have to return you in one piece."

"Where?" Cypess asked, taking a sip from the mug. The only place she remembered being at all was in the woods, in the storm.

"Back..." he paused, thinking better of revealing too much. If she was asking where, he didn't know how much information would overwhelm her. 

"Back where you belong."

Though the unrevealing statement worried Cypress more than it comforted her, she silently drank. A thin string of recognition tugged at her memory when she looked at the man, but she dared not chase it.

"Who are you?" she asked, after some pause.

He looked away, frowning. 

"Muriel."

He turned his back to her, pretending to busy himself with cooking. The reality was that this situation made him intensely uncomfortable. Something had gone wrong, or someone had been badly informed, and with the plague ravaging the city nearby, the last thing Muriel wanted was to be involved.

He bided his time by putting on a pot of tea, and hoped the dry weather held up long enough for her clothes to finish drying on the line outside.

More than anything, he wanted her to leave.


	2. Reflections

Though it was late in the evening, the sweltering late-summer heat had not yet abated. The fire, made necessary by the storm, had long been put out, and every conceivable opening in Muriel's hut was open, begging for any breeze that might wander past. Muriel sat on a stump next to his chicken coop, carving a piece of maple wood by the dying light of the setting sun.

To his relief, the apprentice's clothes had dried without interruption. He had sent her with them in the direction of a cave spring where she might find enough privacy to bathe. He snorted to himself. She needed it.

Worried, he paid little attention to the shape emerging from the wood in his hands. He was used to relying on muscle memory. Where is Asra, he wondered, and where does one even begin in a situation like this? 

He couldn't just send her back to her shop. For one thing, Asra was himself not there, and hadn't been for some time (Muriel had been checking out of worry), and for another, the Red Plague was raging as furiously as ever. She'd be risking death to return.

Looking to the sky, Muriel thought of the thin, grim plume of smoke that had taken residence in a distant part of the horizon, looming dour and ever present over the Lazaret.

He was grateful to the trees for shielding him from its unnerving sight.

Cypress's presence displeased him. Although he didn't find her particularly disagreeable thus far, he was, over everything, a creature of solitude. His years fighting for Lucio had done little to put him at ease in crowds (especially crowds whose sole interest was watching him kill for their pleasure). His truest wish was to be alone and forgotten, which Asra's spell had...

...granted.

The knife in Muriel's hand slipped too far forward with the shock of his realization. Dropping his statue and ignoring the fresh cut on his finger, he moved immediately to find the path to the caves. If she didn't remember him, she'd be in danger on her own.

For her safety and Asra's wellbeing, he could not permit that. Walking quickly up the narrow footpath, he cursed himself for forgetting the spell that had only recently become his reward.

\--

Cypress held her clothes in a bundle against her chest, stepping into the mouth of the cave. Infuriated, she searched her brain for the reason she had come - she had an overwhelming sense that she had been sent here, but by whom, she could not summon to memory. She paused, grasping for details.

She had walked through the forest to come here.

She wanted to bathe.

The clothes she was wearing were not hers (they were hilariously big on her, even tied).

She... knew this place. Somehow.

Somewhere in her core, she felt a warm energy. She had the feeling it was coming from the cave walls, but could not place exactly where or how. Padding forward, she ran her fingers along the stone. On her fingertips, she felt a sensation of radiating light, and it made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

No, not just from the walls.

She closed her eyes, focusing.

It was everywhere, surrounding her.

Cautiously, she walked a trail leading her further into the cave, guided only by a vague sense that she should be going this direction. The cave around her became wider, then more narrow, then wider again. Something was pulling her in. She could feel it, but she had no name for it.

A distance ahead of her was the pool she had been searching for. 

She glanced around quickly, ensuring that no one else was present to see her shame. She shrugged off the tawny roughspun and removed a small bar of soap (where had she gotten it?), striding toward the pool.

Peering at her right hand, she gently began unwrapping the bandage that covered it. She remembered being cut by a weak tree trunk, in some sort of delirium. She wished she could remember what had put her there. When the bandage unraveled, a thin layer of dried, crushed herbs stuck to her palm. Brushing off the remains of the poultice that she must have applied (she honestly didn't remember), she discovered the angry wound underneath it had surrendered - where only a night ago there had been a fiery cut, there was now only the pink line of a new scar. She ran her fingers along it, marvelling that it didn't hurt.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, she dipped her feet into the tepid water, wetting her skin and beginning to lather. The soap smelled earthy, like myrrh. She chided herself - wherever she had bought this, she should ask for something more floral when she returned. The smell was not unpleasant, but she had a strong feeling that something like jasmine or hyacinth would suit her better.

It was, however, strangely familiar.

She made quick work of her limbs and torso. She soaked her hair, quickly working the soap into the knots the storm had made of her dark dusky tresses. She untangled it with her fingers as best she could as she washed, pausing every moment or so to fight with a particularly stubborn tangle.

Ready to rinse, she peered into the surface. She was unable to judge the depth. Quickly deciding she didn't want to go for a swim, she resigned to rinsing from the edge. Sighing, she bent forward to rinse her hair and tease out the rest of the tangles. She brought cupped handfuls of water to her shoulders, letting it stream down her arms and take the sweetly-scented bubbles with it.

Standing, she wrung out her hair and took a few dripping steps toward her clothes. She dried off as best she could with the tunic, folding it neatly as she began to button into her own familiar raiment. Removing a stretchy length of cord from the pocket of her pants, she tied her hair into a high ponytail. She rolled her socks on once her feet were satisfactorily dry, slipping comfortably back into her boots.

Cypress took a breath. In her own clothes, she felt much more at ease. She strode toward the pool, peering down at her reflection. Her long overcoat hung open at her sides, glimmering with the metallic embroidered stars set numerously into the chest and lapels. Further down the garment, they became less populous, instead dotted further apart to mimic the constellations in the sky. Her pale maroon undershirt comfortably hugged her skin, complementing her torso and coming to a peak with its stiff gold collar at her neck. She left two buttons open, leading the eye to the middle of her chest. She tucked her black pants into her boots. Absently, she touched her chest, feeling that there was something missing.

She took in a breath, moving on. She clutched the tunic to her side - she wasn't sure what to do with it, since she was sure it didn't belong to her, but she didn't want to just leave it in front of the pool like an uncivilized heathen.

She scoffed. What kind of inconsiderate jerk would foul natural beauty with their litter?

She looked around, seeing several tunnels before her. Blinking, she realized she had no idea which of them she had come through. She sighed, her expression falling. A day full of not remembering anything wouldn't be complete without immediately forgetting something, now would it?

She paused, hoping for the leading sensation to return to her. She inhaled, focusing. At the center of her chest, she was pleased to discover that she did, indeed, feel as if there were a rope tugging her in the direction of the tunnel on the furthest wall. Stepping down it, she felt the soft tendrils of a familiar energy that she could not place, but she failed to recognize her surroundings from coming in. Trekking down a ways, she noted this path to definitely be unfamiliar.

She stopped mid-stride, ears pricking to a sound that didn't seem to belong. She heard the steady roar of the waterfall far behind, but closer, and far more faint, was a quiet sound of unsteady breath and sniffling.

Silently, she pressed on, carefully searching for the source of the muted noise.

A distance ahead of her was a figure she couldn't shake the feeling that she should recognize.

Sitting leaned against a wall of the cave was a figure dressed in scarlet, cradling his head in both hands, wracked with quiet sobs. His pearlescent hair shone in the light filtering from the cave's ceiling. 

Cypress approached him slowly and silently, inquisitive, hoping to help.

The pale lavender snake coiled around his arm focused her attention at his face, seeming to be trying to comfort him. Cypress's foot fell with just barely enough noise to detect, and the snake went stiff. She slithered quickly off of the man's arm, shaking him from his reverie. She darted toward Cypress, crawling enthusiastically up her leg and to her face, resting on her shoulder. Cypress, startled, cried out and fell onto the ground.

_Friend!!!!_ , her movement seemed to say.

The man stood slowly, wiping his face on his sleeve. He looked toward Cypress, an expression of disbelief on his tearstained face. He walked toward her with careful steps, as if she were a mirage that might vanish if he moved to quickly. 

"I... is that you? Cypress?"

She paused as she tried to lift herself, careful not to hurt the excited reptile coiling herself up and down her arm. She raised her gaze to meet his. He looked destroyed, as if something catastrophic had recently come to ravage his life.

"I think so?" was all she could manage. "It sounds right..."

The man stepped closer to her, still sniffling, and collected the snake carefully from her arm. 

"I can't believe it. After everything that's happened, you're here, and you're okay." A few runaway tears darted down his cheeks. He offered her a hand an helped her to her feet.

"What happened?" She asked, searching his face for an answer. It can't have been good.

Wordlessly, he gathered her into a tight embrace. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, ridding himself of the last of his tears. She couldn't tell if it was sobs or laughter that was making his back shake.

When he pulled himself away, he looked her in the eyes, searching.

"Do you remember me?"

Cypress searched her memory timorously, afraid to be hurt. A name revealed itself in the front of her mind, and her heart fluttered with recognition. 

A smile came to her face, with no small quantity of tears.

"Asra."


End file.
